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Don't Snoop for Snoopy!

Had to put my beloved dog down a few weeks ago. It is what it is, but it sucks for all the obvious reasons. The vet asked if I wanted her cremated remains. It was an emotional moment, so I was all, "yeah, yeah, absolutely."

About a week goes by and I'm the proud owner of a box full of ashes. It's in that moment that you ask yourself, "What in the blue f**k am I gonna do with these?!?" Until I come up with a master plan, the box, which is in a bag, will be in the back corner of the closet of my bedroom. That's moderately creepy, but I'm ok with that... for now.

A few days ago, my kids come running into the living room with the kind of smile reserved for guilty people and moray eels.

They were excited to tell me that they found a 'present' in my closet...and of course, they explained this to me in that sing-songy voice that only kids do. It's sorta mocking, but also kinda triumphant. Whatever it is, it's smug.

Imagine the change on their faces when I told them, "Guys, that's not a gift. That's your dog".